


Stuck in the Middle With You

by femmenerd



Series: Sadie 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, First Time, Gen, High School, Male-Female Friendship, Pre-Series, Pre-Stanford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-19
Updated: 2006-09-19
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:43:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1300384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmenerd/pseuds/femmenerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set pre-series during Sam’s senior year in high school. College applications are stressful if you’re a Winchester…and girls are weird. </p><p>Originally posted on LJ <a href="http://femmenerd.livejournal.com/126566.html">[here].</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck in the Middle With You

Sam likes girls. He likes them a lot. And not just for the all the lascivious reasons his brother likes to list off—Dean and his porny poetry, his staccato odes to the finer points of pussy appreciation.

No, Sam’s always felt kind of more comfortable being friends with girls than most guys. Talking to them. Listening to their thoughts and their pretty laughter and breathing in their softer, exotic-in-his-world scents. They like to tell him their secrets and he listens, nodding at appropriate intervals like he understands, but he can’t tell them any of his. 

But he doesn’t like Sadie. Not at all. 

Something about her just bugs him and has since the first day she crashed in late to his AP history class—the new girl. She fidgets, and she snaps her gum so loud it distracts him from taking notes, and this class is _hard_ and if he wants to get a scholarship every little bit counts. 

Sadie sits at the desk behind Sam’s every single day after that and he can _feel_ her staring into his back. It sucks. 

*****

Sam can’t quite exactly put his finger on which thing it is about Sadie that irritates him the most. It could be the way that she always speaks out of turn in class, never raising her hand, just yelling out answers and opinions when she feels like it. And she only reads the assigned books that she likes. 

But she’s smart, really smart, and that’s annoying too. On the day that their SAT scores come in the mail Sadie grabs Sam’s letter out of his hand in the hall, flipping an unruly shock of black and white streaked hair out of her eyes to read out loud and exclaim, “1450! Hey, that’s pretty good.”

“Pretty good!?” he huffs out, grabbing the paper out of her hands. “That’s…that’s…”

“Almost as high as my score,” Sadie says and grins though gapped front teeth. She’s got on shiny, shiny lipgloss and he can smell it all sugary vanilla even from two feet away. “Doesn’t matter though,” she continues, not seeming to care that Sam’s already started walking away as she skips along next to him, purple Doc Martens clomping on ugly, yellow linoleum. “I’m not going to college, no matter what my Dad says.”

“Why not?” Sam asks, even though he shouldn’t encourage her—she never shuts up. 

“I’m moving to New York as soon as I turn eighteen. Fuck all this bullshit. I want to go where people care about things that _matter_. Oh, and I’m going to write books, so I have to really _experience life_ , you know?”

She swears like a sailor, too. Did Sam mention that?

*****

Sadie sits next to him every day at lunch—she can’t (or won’t) take a hint. She always has two chocolate milks, cookies in a package from the vending machine, and an apple, maybe a pudding cup.

“I like sweet things,” she says, licking her lips in this totally gross way that Sam can’t help but stare at. She gets crumbs on her stripey skirt and all over her cardigan sweater. Most of the time she looks like she’s watched a few too many Molly Ringwald movies. And she just rattles on whether Sam responds or not. 

Finally Sam asks her, “Why in the hell do you always sit here? Can’t you tell I’m trying to read?”

“Well,” Sadie says, “I guess I figure that neither of us really belongs. Besides, you like me—you just don’t know it yet.”

“Whatever,” Sam says, and goes back to flipping through the Stanford University informational packet. 

*****

Dean says basically the same thing when he first meets her. Sam’s been waiting on the front steps of school for half an hour too long when Dean pulls up, blasting Led Zep with the windows wide open. Dean gets out of the Impala and jogs ups slowly like he isn’t late at all. 

“Who’s your friend, Sammy?” Dean says, eyes gravitating towards Sadie’s tits before clapping Sam on the back, jostling his backpack.

“I’m Sadie,” Sadie announces before Sam can open his mouth. “And you should take a picture. It’d last longer. But I want distribution rights.” But she doesn’t look all that pissed really, and cracks a dimpled grin after blowing her bangs out of her eyes. 

Dean throws his head back and laughs. “Caught yourself a feisty one, eh? Nice going, little brother.”

Sam glares at them both, swiveling his head back and forth. “She’s not…she’s just...”

“I’m his mistress of pain,” Sadie deadpans. “Sam here just wasn’t ready for you to know he’s into the kinky shit yet.”

Dean snorts. Sam groans. “Come on, Dean. We’ve got that…thing to do,” he says through clenched teeth and yanks on Dean’s jacket sleeve.

“See you tomorrow, lover. Same time, same place,” Sadie calls out, waving an armful of jangly silver bracelets. 

“You’re insane,” Sam yells back and slams the car door.

“That girl’s a freak. You should totally hit that,” Dean says as he revs the engine. “Kinda weird-looking in a way, but overall pretty hot.” 

Sam sighs heavily, “Dean, she’s a basket case. And I don’t even like her.” 

“Fuckin’ liar. You’re just a scaredy-cat. Besides, that can be _really_ hot.”

But why should Sam take advice from Dean? He’s the one who almost got his ass beat by the Neanderthal-esque neighbor guy the last place they lived for making it with the dude’s wife. Sam’s not a virgin or anything—there was prom last year—but his brother? Is a slut.

And Sadie—she’s just… _too much_. 

***** 

The world hates Sam. That’s why he and Sadie get assigned to work together on their big presentation for history. Twenty-five percent of their final grade. 

“You better not flake out on me,” Sam warns. 

“I won’t. Scout’s Honor,” Sadie says mock solemnly and does a little salute. 

“Okay, well we better get going on this. How about tomorrow? My house after school or yours?”

“Yours,” she says really quickly and looks down at her chipped nail polish. Sam only catches a glimpse of her face but her lips are turned down. He’s never seen her do that before. 

“All right. But ground rules first. You can not, under any circumstances, slack off and mack on my brother.”

Her frown’s gone, replaced by a smirk. “Now why would I do that? He’s a total babe, but that would be so _obvious_.” She says this like it makes sense. It’s weird—girls always like Dean, even little kids and grandmas. “Besides,” Sadie goes on, “I prefer the shy, intellectual type myself.” 

Sam squirms in his seat. 

*****

Sam goes crazy hiding all evidence of hunting or anything else weird the next morning before school. It’s a good thing too, because Sadie won’t stop poking around in every corner as soon as they walk in the door. She says she has to be really observant of details if she wants to be a good writer. 

“Okay, but if we’re going to get a good grade on this project, you’d better help me out here.” After that, Sadie surprises Sam by really hitting the books, taking notes in perfect-looking, girl handwriting and actually being totally silent for whole stretches of time. Totally silent except for these little, breathy sighs she keeps making that make his skin itch. 

They’ve been working steadily for hours when Dean bursts through the front door and then stops to gawk at their little tableau, eyebrows raised. “Go, nerd boy, go!” he says, ruffling Sam’s hair on his way into the kitchen for a beer. Dean really flaunts the fact that he’s legally allowed to drink now. 

When Sam looks up to find a new pencil, Sadie’s watching him intently, eyes big and blue. “What?” Sam asks. It’s making him nervous, her not saying anything like this. 

“Nothing,” she says, “It's just—it must be really cool, having a family who loves you that much.”

“Huh?” Sam blinks. 

“You’re really lucky, you know.” Her voice is almost a whisper as she ducks her head down, revealing the wispy, cookies-and-cream curls that float precariously at the nape of her neck. Sam shakes his head. She’s going to have to work a lot harder at this observation stuff. “Lucky” is definitely not a word that Sam’s ever used to describe his life.

*****

They start going to the library every day after school, ostensibly to work on the project—which they do—but also because it turns out that Sadie and Sam actually do share one thing in common: a totally obsessive appreciation for the order of the dewey decimal system and the smell that comes when you’re surrounded by thousands and thousands of books. 

Sadie still freaks him out when she starts giggling too loudly in the stacks, but sometimes she makes him laugh also, and that’s not too bad. Except when the librarian gives them the look of death. Sam doesn’t really dwell on it, but he’s given up on trying to shake her. In fact, it’s really odd when she stays home sick or something, and isn’t there bouncing around and talking his ear off in between classes. The school seems so....empty. 

One day, for no apparent reason, Sam tells her that his Dad and Dean don’t know that he applied to college and that he’s terrified that they’ll go ballistic when they find out. Thankfully she doesn’t ask why. 

“Really?” is all she says, climbing onto a step ladder to reach the poetry section. “Sam Winchester, who knew you were such a rebel?”

“Yeah well, I just haven’t figured out how to tell them yet.” He bites his lip and reaches up to steady her as she totters on one scuffed, low-heeled Mary Jane. His hand spans across her waist and Sam can feel her ribs shake. From her elevated position, Sadie’s just a couple inches taller than Sam instead of the usual foot below. Once she’s regained her equilibrium Sam still doesn’t remove his grip. He doesn’t know why, but it’s all he can do not to trace down the wide expanse of her hip. He has _not_ contemplated this too much, but she’s built like a fifties pin-up girl, with full curves and bubble ass. But, you know, the Pippi Longstockings-on-acid version. Things get swimmy as he stares up at the perfect, unmarked pale of her face. Sadie always wears too much mascara. He wishes she wouldn’t do that. Her eyes are…sparkly. 

“You wear too much make-up,” he says, without thinking about it.

“You’re a jerk,” Sadie snaps, brushing his hand off. Sam shakes his head, realizing he’d been hypnotized—that must be why he suddenly lost his ability to edit. Sadie’s cheeks are flushed pink and blotchy with apparent aggravation, which is strange because nothing he’s said has ever riled her up before. And Sam’s surprised himself with the things he’s said to her—he’s never been that bitchy to anyone except for Dean. 

Sadie looks mad right up until the moment when Sam pulls her head down and finds himself kissing her with boiling urgency and needful flashes of tongue. But she makes a non-angry-sounding gasp, and his eyes are closed so he can’t see anyway. One of Sadie’s arms flails out when she starts kissing him back for real, complete with low, mewling noises, and an old hardcover copy of Walt Whitman nearly smashes Sam on the head as it falls to the ground. For a minute they stop and hold their breath, foreheads together, waiting for someone to come see what’s up. But for long seconds no one appears and Sam can feel her breath hot on his cheek. Then Sadie tilts her head down and slowly licks the seam of his mouth and it’s all over. 

Sam can’t figure out what to with his hands so they migrate from her hair to the back of her neck and then his fingers skate to the place where he can feel her bra clasp through her sweater. “I want you,” Sam pants out incredulously, like he’s just figured it out. 

“I know,” Sadie laughs and nibbles his lower lip. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he says, still stroking her back, lower now, with increasingly desperate fingertips.

“I can,” she says in this throaty way that goes right to his dick, leaning over to pepper Sam’s neck with the airiest of little kisses. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t topple into the book cart right then and there.

*****

After that afternoon, Sam still doesn’t talk to her like she’s a _girl_ exactly. She’s just Sadie—crazy Sadie. And they have an unspoken rule that nothing changes at school. They get an easy A on their history presentation, and she listens to all of his anxieties about his pending college applications, scoffing when he worries too much. She tells him the plots to all of the stories she plans to write, which all take place in cities she’s never visited. 

But nearly every day after school, they’re searching for new and varied places to make out: in a field by the old saw mill where she eggs him on with high-pitched moans as he gives her hickeys on the tender skin of her ribcage and the undersides of her breasts, an abandoned barn where she first touches his cock with a careful exploratory touch, and the library still gets her hot. The microfiche room is the first place Sam’s hands find their way into her panties. He forgets that this is _not_ the kind of risk he’s willing to take when she’s trembling around his fingers as he suckles her nipple through her blouse—his spit making the thin, white cotton go so translucent that it’s a good thing Sadie always wears cardigans over everything, even in the springtime. When Dad’s not around, they hole up in the bedroom he shares with Dean, because Dean will tease mercilessly, yes, but he won’t tell. But never once does Sam see the inside of her house. 

Sadie treats each new way to make each other feel good like it’s a research project. She does things like strip his boxers off and convince an embarrassed Sam into letting her _watch_ him get hard. “I want to see it happen,” she says, and her gaze on his cock makes the process go extra-fast. But her curiosity rewards him with the way that she explores his body with fingers and tongue, tasting the outlines of muscle just above his waistband and other places that make Sam blush just thinking about it. 

So Sam’s surprised when she tells him flat out that she’s a virgin; she’s never done any of this before. “It’s time that I learned, and you’re going to help.”

“Uh, okay,” Sam says, caught off-guard by her sudden grip on his dick and the ensuing questions about which rhythm he likes best. He adds his own hand to hers and shows her how _he_ does it and later wonders if that really happened or not. 

*****

“Your dad’s gone an awful lot,” Sadie observes.

Sam had been hoping this wouldn’t come up. He swallows and says quickly, “Yeah well, he works a lot.”

Sadie nods. “So does mine. He doesn’t really care about anything else. I mean, other than wondering when I’m going to turn into the daughter he signed up for—the one who’ll go to Harvard and find herself a lawyer. Or maybe he wants me to _be_ a lawyer. I’m not entirely sure. Anyway, whatever, I hate my dad.”

“I love my dad, but I don’t know if he’s gonna love _me_ anymore if I actually leave,” Sam says, looking down. 

“Huh,” Sadie says, pausing for a moment before adding, “It’s kinda weird how we have the exact opposite problems…except not.”

“Yeah,” Sam mutters and pulls her head in towards his.

*****

The day Sam gets his acceptance letter from Stanford, John and Dean are both out on a hunt together. He goes to bed early because there’s too much to think about. Sam’s been lying on his back in his pajamas staring at the ceiling for over an hour when he hears the plunk plunk of pebbles glancing off his window—Sadie keeps a supply on the front lawn for just this purpose. He gets up and opens the window and she clatters in, wearing sweatpants and no make-up. He’s never seen her without her miscellaneous Sadie-accoutrement and she looks…amazingly sexy.

“I got into school,” he says slowly as she tears off her T-shirt. “Full ride and everything.” 

Sadie stops short. “I _told_ you that’s what would happen,” she exclaims, jumping up to wrap her naked arms around his neck. Sam doesn’t move a muscle, just lets her enfold him in spicy-sweet warmth. “What?” she asks, pulling back. “Aren’t you happy? I thought this was what you wanted.”

“It is.” But Sam can hear how his own voice sounds dull. Then he forces himself to snap out of it, lifting her up and tossing her on his bed. Sadie wriggles as he goes for her neck. “Sam…Sam!” she yelps out, struggling for breath, “I don’t want to steal your thunder or anything but…”

“But what?” he asks dazedly, dipping his tongue into her exposed belly button. 

“It’s my birthday,” Sadie says in a tone that’s the closest to shy he’s ever heard come out of her. “It’s—it’s time, if you want.”

*****

They do it three times that night. The first time just to prove that they can, with Sadie impatient and Sam trying really hard not to hurt her. “No, no,” she explains, “make it like how it is with a Band Aid—get the hard part over fast.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” Sam says and pushes into her like she asked, bowing his head and shuddering as she cries out. 

Then she wraps her legs around his back tightly and murmurs, “It’s okay, Sam. It’s _good_.”

The second time is only fifteen minutes after the first, and they both laugh throughout, fumbling into new positions that they’ve read about in books or in Sam’s case seen in the porn videos Dean forced him to watch. Sadie insists that they keep the lamp on bright, and the light emphasizes the contrast of Sam’s brown skin against her white, his angles and lines against the rounded fullness of her hips. It’s the first time in a while that Sam hasn’t been thinking about the future. 

Afterwards, Sadie announces, “I picked you…to be the first. That very first day in class.”

Sam coughs awkwardly. “Why would you do that? I wasn’t…” He swallows hard. “I wasn’t exactly _nice_ to you.”

“Well, I like a challenge, you know,” Sadie says matter-of-factly, running her small hands over the undersides of Sam’s arms. “And you seemed like the kind of person where if you decided to do something, you’d do it right. Plus, there was also the issue of your wrists.”

“My _wrists_?”

“Yeah,” she says tracing the veins on his left one with her fingertip, “they’re _hot_.”

“Girls are weird.” He shivers and covers her hand with his, engulfing and dwarfing it. 

“Everyone’s weird,” Sadie proclaims, lifting Sam’s knuckles to her cheek. 

He gazes down at her for a minute, his overgrown bangs sticking sweatily to his forehead, then says softly, “I don’t want to be weird. Not anymore.”

“That’s too bad, Sam. It really is.” 

The third time, they’re both half asleep and pulsing into each other like slow honey, sleepy but electrified in that strange way where you’re incapable of any motion that _isn’t_ fucking—when you have no idea what time it is and you don’t care. 

*****

When Sam wakes up in the morning, there’s a note on the pillow in her flowery handwriting.

_Sam,_

_I wanted to tell you last night, but for some reason I couldn’t. I’m leaving today. Because I’m eighteen now and I made a pact with my twelve-year-old self that this is when I’d break free._

_I chose right picking you. I wanted you to know that._

_Good luck with absolutely everything, and seriously, reconsider that whole “normal” thing. You’re better than that._

_-Sadie._

_P.S. Don’t worry, I’ll change your name in my book._

Sam rubs his eyes and reads it a second time, then a third. He can’t say he’s surprised. This is just like Sadie—trying to turn her life into a subtitled movie. But it’s weird, not being the one to leave. Winchesters _always_ leave, but usually they do it together. 

Soon that’s gonna change...and he’s not sure if he’s prepared for that.

*****


End file.
